


Highest Ground (Keep on Trying)

by Taste_is_Sweet



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Awesome Jane Foster, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Hydra are dicks, M/M, OTP: Till the End of the Line, So does Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky apologizes; Joan forgives. It's not easy for either of them.</p><p>(<i>Bucky swallowed, and his eyes were red. "I'm sorry," he said again to the young woman. "I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't…." He stopped, twisting his right arm out of Steve's grip so he could wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand.  "I'm sorry."</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highest Ground (Keep on Trying)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Higher Ground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839802) by [Shazrolane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane/pseuds/Shazrolane). 



> This is a sequel to _Higher Ground_ by my buddy Shazrolane. Because Higher Ground is fantastic and the ending stuck with me for months. And because this is a paraphrased version of my conversation with Shaz about it:
> 
>  **Me:** That ending is so sad! Does Bucky ever get a chance to redeem himself?  
>  **Shaz:** Yes! Sort of! I was planning a sequel where Bucky rescues the POV character!  
>  **Me:** Yay!  
>  **Shaz:** And then takes her to the same people who look after him!  
>  **Me:** ...Which are Hydra.  
>  **Shaz:** Which are Hydra! Because he doesn't know any better. He thinks they'll help her.  
>  **Me:** ....  
>  **Shaz:** You don't think that's too sad, do you?  
>  **Me:** OH LOOK! A SQUIRREL! ::Grabs fic and runs::
> 
> That is exactly how it happened. Seriously.
> 
> Anyway, do yourself a favor and go read [Higher Ground](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1839802), because it's brilliant. And then go read the rest of Shaz' stuff, because it's also brilliant. Just, bring tissues.
> 
> And then come back here and read the sequel. I'll wait. ;)
> 
> * * *

I'm so darn glad he let me try it again  
Cause my last time on earth I lived a whole world of sin  
I'm so glad that I know more than I knew then  
Gonna keep on trying  
Till I reach my highest ground  
\---Stevie Wonder, [Higher Ground](https://youtu.be/X00XdLhFLSg)

"When did you start taking your coffee with honey?" Steve asked.

Bucky didn't startle. There was no reason he should have, since the cafeteria of Avengers Tower was quiet and almost empty in the late afternoon. But the fact that Bucky didn't felt like a victory all the same.

A small victory. Bucky still froze at the question, as if he'd done something terrible by having any kind of preference at all.

"It's okay. You're not in trouble. Nothing's wrong," Steve said quietly. It felt like he'd said that a million times since he and Sam had brought Bucky home, but he'd say it a million more if it got Bucky to finally believe him. He carefully put his hand on Bucky's wrist, keeping his grip loose and light. Gentle touches often helped Bucky remember that he was safe and not alone. "I was just curious. You don't have to tell me."

It seemed to work this time. Bucky didn't look at him, but he didn't abandon the coffee either. He fastened the lid back on and put it on his tray. "I don't remember," he said softly. "I just…I wanted to try it?" He looked at Steve finally, his expression uncertain.

Steve smiled as warmly as he could, hoping Bucky couldn't see any of his heartbreak behind it. "That's great, Buck," he said. "I'm glad you're trying something new. In fact, I'm going to try it myself." He took the lid off his own cup and squeezed in a dollop of honey, then stirred it and put the lid back on. He took a sip, then grinned. "It's pretty good. Thanks."

Bucky's tiny smile in return was also painfully uncertain. But it was there and real, and that was already so much better than the week before. Bucky was in counselling every day and some days it felt to Steve like it would never end. But Bucky was getting better all the time, slowly returning to the man he'd been. It was still exhausting, though—leading him through a world that baffled and terrified him like wobbling through a minefield. It was worth it; it would always be worth it. Except sometimes it was all Steve could do not to start screaming, or to find every Hydra cell that was left and burn them to the ground.

He glanced down the cafeteria line, sighing inwardly. Only roughly twenty more choices to go before he could pay and they could sit down and Bucky could relax as much as he ever did these days. "So," he said brightly, "would you like a muffin or something to go with your coffee? They're, um, sweet. Like cupcakes. Only healthier. Sort of," he added when Bucky just looked at him blankly. "Here." He grabbed a chocolate chip one off the shelf and put it on Bucky's tray. He hated making decisions for him, but the number of choices had been bewildering for him when he'd come out of the ice, and that was without amnesia or decades of torture. "That one has chocolate in it. You liked that a lot, when we were kids."

Bucky nodded seriously, then took a banana nut muffin and put it on his tray as well. But then he froze again, looking at Steve with the same awful uncertainty.

"That's fine," Steve said. "Take as many as you want."

Bucky seemed to consider that, then he took another three—strawberry, bran and pistachio, apparently choosing them by color. Steve bit his tongue so he wouldn't cheer.

* * *

"You're right, the chocolate chip one is the best," Bucky said. He made a face then took a sip of his coffee, obviously to wash the taste of pistachio out of his mouth. He put the green muffin on Steve's tray. "Here. You have it."

"Pawning it off on me, huh?" Steve said. Then, "That's a joke, Bucky. I don't mind." Because Bucky looked worried again. "Do you remember that you'd give me your food sometimes, before—when we were kids?" he added, as casually as possible. "You'd bring me and my ma groceries all the time. You never told me, but I think you went without a lot, to make sure Ma and I didn't. I hated not being able to take care of her myself, but I hope you know how much it meant to me. How much we both appreciated it."

Bucky didn't respond, but he broke off a big piece of the chocolate chip muffin and put it on Steve's tray.

"Thank you," Steve said softly, then purposely glanced at the people coming in so he could blink back tears. "Oh, hey, that's Dr. Foster. You met her last week. She's an astrophysicist and Thor's girlfriend. I wonder who that is with her?" He looked back at Bucky. "You remember Jane, right?" he asked, because Bucky's memory was still spotty, occasionally losing large chunks of time like it'd never happened. At least that was getting better too.

Bucky nodded distantly, barely bobbing his head. His eyes were fastened on the woman walking next to Jane and in animated conversation with her. She was taller than Jane—not that that was unusual—with lighter brown hair in a ponytail and a sweet but unremarkable face. She was wearing jeans and a sweater with a pair of safety goggles around her neck.

"What is it, Buck? What's wrong?" Steve asked him. The young woman wasn't even looking in their direction, but Bucky was fixated on her. Steve blinked on an awful thought, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Is she Hydra?"

Bucky shook his head, which would've been more comforting if his expression hadn't changed from the intense scrutiny to something like blank fear. "I know her," he said, then pushed back from the table and stood up, still staring at her. Then he abruptly walked over to her, looking like he was going to his own execution.

"Bucky, wait." Steve went after him, worried now. Bucky hadn't done anything even remotely violent after the helicarrier, but Steve had no idea what this was or what was going on.

Jane and the other woman stopped when they saw Bucky coming towards them. Jane gave Bucky one of her typically big smiles, but he didn't even look at her. He stopped in front of the other woman. He'd started shaking. "I'm sorry," he said.

The woman with Jane blinked at him, then bobbed back in surprise when she saw Steve. "Um, excuse me," she said, looking back and forth between the two of them. "But, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure," Steve said, trying to smile as comfortingly as he could when he was getting increasingly concerned. "Bucky, what is it?" He put his hand around Bucky's wrist, partially in case he had to subdue him. He hated that he was even thinking of that, but he had no more idea what was happening here than Jane and her companion did.

Bucky swallowed, and his eyes were red. "I'm sorry," he said again to the young woman. "I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't…." He stopped, twisting his right arm out of Steve's grip so he could wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I'm sorry."

The woman gaped and him, then took a step back with her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God," she said, and now she looked just as terrified as Bucky. "Oh my God. Oh no." And she turned and ran.

Bucky made a miserable, choked noise but didn't try to go after her. Jane looked at them both in total confusion, then ran after her friend.

"Bucky, what happened? How do you know her?" It was horribly clear that he remembered her from something he did as the Winter Soldier or Asset, but Steve had no idea what. He was really worried now that her parents were dead because of Hydra or the Red Room. Bucky hadn't forgiven himself for being forced to kill Howard and Maria Stark, and Steve doubted he ever would. He didn't need yet more sorrow on his conscience.

Bucky just shook his head mutely, smearing at his eyes. Either he couldn't make himself tell Steve, or he couldn't find the words to explain.

"It's okay, Bucky," Steve said. He put his arm around Bucky's shoulder, but Bucky shrugged him off.

"Can we go home, please?" he asked.

"Yeah, of course." Steve nodded. "Of course we can go home. Whatever you need."

"Thanks," Bucky said hoarsely. He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets, walking with his head down so his still too-long hair fell in front of his face. Steve put his hand on Bucky's shoulder, but Bucky shrugged him off again. "Don't."

Steve sighed, but put his own hands in his pockets and walked beside him. He wouldn't force anything on Bucky, but he wished he could at least give him comfort. "It wasn't you, you know," he said, very quietly. "Whatever happened, it was Hydra. They did that to you."

Bucky didn't answer.

* * *

"I'm sorry, I am _so_ sorry," Jane said. "I didn't know he was here. I mean, I did, but. I didn't know it would matter. I'm so sorry!" They were back in the lab, which had been Joan Langer's new favorite place on earth until just twenty minutes ago, when the man who still haunted her nightmares had destroyed her sense of safety as quickly as he had with a single bullet seven years ago. The fact that he looked almost exactly the same just made it worse, like no time had passed at all; like she'd never escape him.

Jane hugged her again, and Joan accepted it gratefully. "It's not your fault," she said, sniffling. "I just…didn't know it would hit me so hard. I just, thought it was over, you know?"

"Yes I do," Jane said. She pulled back and grabbed another handful of tissues out of the box on her desk and shoved them into Joan's hand. "I do know how it is to think that someone who hurt you is out of your life for good, only to have him come back again in the worst possible way when you least expect it. But…" She bit her lip. "James Barnes isn't the same person he was, um, before. When he shot that poor man."

Joan nodded, blotting her eyes. "I know. I saw all those news reports too." She'd searched them out voraciously, trying to understand what had happened, trying to find some logic or reason behind the terror of that moment. All she'd found were the accounts of a Lazarus prisoner of war; a scared, tormented young man who seemed barely able to function under the weight of the cameras and scrutiny. A man who Captain America himself vouched for, who he apparently would've died for and almost did. The love of Steve Rogers' life, if the lurid tabloid covers weren't just spewing more lies.

She'd searched the news for months, and all she'd found was the resurrected corpse of a long-lost soldier. There were no answers.

"I know what happened to him," Joan said. "And I know I shouldn't…It's unfair of me to be afraid of him. But…." She swallowed, wiped her nose. "You should've seen his face, right after he'd done it. He smiled at me. Like, like he was happy. Like he didn’t care that he'd just killed someone. And he gave me money to repair the window and just…walked away." A fresh spate of tears ran down her face. "He just _walked away,_ like it didn't matter. And, and all these years I've dreamed about him coming back to kill me too." She shuddered. "And now he's in the same building I work at."

Jane hugged her again. "Oh, I'm so sorry, honey. I know, I know how awful that is. But this is the safest building in the city. And Captain Rogers is with him basically all the time. And, I don't think he wants to hurt anyone, anymore. Um, not that he did," she added quickly.

"I know." Joan sniffed. She just wished it made any difference. "I thought it was over, when they found him. I thought I wouldn't have to be scared anymore. But he lives here. How could I have been so stupid? I _knew_ he lived here, but I never thought about it. And now I'm going to have to be afraid of seeing him every time I come to work…!"

"No you're not. You don't have to be afraid." Jane put her hands on Joan's shoulders and looked her in the eyes, every bit the tiny, ferocious genius who'd helped save the world. "All I have to do is talk to Steve and Tony and we'll make sure you two are never in the same place at the same time again. But I have a better idea than that."

Joan sniffed again and wiped her eyes. "Me getting a new job?"

"Like I'd let you walk out of here," Jane scoffed. "I think you should let Sergeant Barnes apologize to you."

Joan froze. "What?"

"Hear me out," Jane said. She squeezed Joan's shoulders a little as if she was trying to keep the other woman from bolting. "When he came over to us in the cafeteria, he was trying to apologize for what happened."

"He was?"

Jane nodded. "He was. And honestly, he seemed just as upset as you were."

She doubted it. "I don't know if his apologizing will make any difference."

"It might," Jane said. "I think you should let him try. I mean, you know that he was forced to do all the terrible things he did. So, maybe even if it doesn't change anything, at least you'll be able to see that you can be in the same room with him, right? And, you can meet him. The real him. Not the assassin who smiled and paid for your window."

Joan took a long, shuddering breath, nodded in thanks when Jane handed her another wad of tissues. "I don't want to," she said honestly. She blotted her eyes and wiped her nose again. She could only imagine how terrible she must look right now.

"Believe me, I can completely understand that," Jane said. "But, you've been afraid of him for seven years, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's a really long time," Jane said. "And I can completely understand that you'd never want to look at Bucky again. But maybe if you do, it'll help you not to be afraid anymore. And—this is totally my opinion, you don't have to agree at all—but I've had things happen that left me afraid for a long time, too. And it was worth it to me, facing the man who'd done that to me again. Because I stopped being scared of him after that."

Joan swallowed, looking up at Jane's open expression. "I don't want to see him again." She took a breath. "But I don't want to keep feeling like this either." She nodded, reluctantly. "All right."

Jane beamed at her. "I'll call Steve. We can do this wherever and whenever you want, okay? It's up to you."

"Sooner the better," Joan said. She quirked something like a smile. "Might as well rip the bandage off, you know? But, what do you mean, 'we'?"

"I'm coming with you," Jane said, like it was inconceivable that Joan might even think otherwise. "And if he so much looks at you funny, I'll bop him in the nose." She grinned at Joan's wet smirk. "Don't think I won't. And my boyfriend can kick his ass into next year."

* * *

Joan felt a bit like a coward for letting Jane call Captain Rogers and arrange a meeting. Then again, Jane was talking to _Captain Freaking Rogers_ and Joan felt completely justified in being a little overawed at the idea.

She tried to convince herself that it wasn't cowardly either, to cling to the tiny little scientist's hand as they went up the private elevator to the floors reserved for the Avengers. Or to keep clinging when they stepped off it onto what Jane called the 'common floor', where apparently any Avenger or their significant others were free to go.

Jane said that there would only be the four of them, which Joan found both comforting and unnerving as hell, since it meant the only buffer between her and Sergeant Barnes would be Jane and Steve. And Jane was ferocious, but tiny. And, well, it wasn't like Joan didn't know whose side Steve would be on.

"I know you're scared," Jane whispered to her. "But nothing bad is going to happen, I promise. And from what Steve said, I'm sure Bucky is just as frightened as you."

Joan had absolutely no idea why Barnes would be frightened at all—what could she possibly do to him? Yell?—but she finally let Jane not-entirely-drag her to the expensive but comfortable-looking couches in the center of the room.

Barnes and Steve both rocketed to their feet as soon as the two women were halfway from the elevator, which Joan knew was old-school chivalry. It was kind of sweet, though Barnes looked like he was on his feet not so much out of politeness as because he wanted to run. He was wearing a pair of khakis, with a dark blue polo shirt that made his already pale skin look absolutely ghastly.

He'd dressed for the occasion, Joan realized. In the cafeteria, he'd been wearing jeans and a tee-shirt with Captain America's shield on it. And she remembered distinctly the utilitarian, ill-fitting military-style clothes he'd worn at Higher Ground. He hadn't even tied his overly long hair back this time. She wondered if he'd done that on purpose, to look as different as possible from the man she'd met seven years ago. There was something about that, the fact that he'd gone to this kind of trouble, that was both a little comforting and sad.

His feet were bare too, looking pale and oddly vulnerable, and that had to be on purpose, considering everyone else was wearing shoes. He was also hunched with his arms crossed, as if he was trying to make himself look harmless. For a moment Joan was offended, that Barnes would think she was stupid enough to believe that bare feet and a nice shirt meant he was incapable of the horrible things he'd done. And then she made herself really look at his face, and she knew it wasn't because he thought she was stupid at all.

There was nothing calculating or smug about his expression; nothing even hopeful. He was terrified of her, maybe more frightened than she was of him.

"Hi," Steve said, with a big, warm smile that was only a little anxious around the edges. His hand engulfed hers when they shook. "I made coffee. I didn't know if you'd like any."

"No, thank you," Joan said. She and Barnes barely looked at each other.

"I'd love some," Jane said. She sat on the loveseat across from the couch, practically dragging Joan down with her. Joan didn't fail to notice Steve basically doing the same thing to Barnes.

Jane poured coffee for all four of them, deftly adding cream and sugar to Joan's and sliding it to her with a smile that didn't invite refusal. Steve put at least four teaspoons of sugar in Barnes' and handed it to him. Barnes seemed to take it automatically, then clutched it with both hands and stared at the mug as if it offered all the secrets to the universe. His metal arm gleamed and Joan had the sudden, crazy thought that maybe he'd polished it.

"Thank you for coming," Steve said formally. He was holding his coffee too. The only one who actually took a sip was Jane. "I can only imagine how difficult this must have been for you, Joan, and I can't tell you how much Bucky and I appreciate it."

He didn't quite kick Barnes' ankle to get the tight, miniscule nod.

Barnes took a deep breath and looked up, and Joan could see how much effort it took him to meet her eyes. "Miss—Ms.—Langer." He licked his lips, swallowed. "I-I just wanted to tell you—"

"Why did you shoot him?" Joan demanded, startling herself. And Barnes startled like she'd just shot _him,_ with was exactly the image she didn't need. But she kept going, all the questions that had kept her up at night for years tumbling out of her mouth like that poor man had tumbled to the pavement: "Why did you have to shoot him from my coffee shop? Why didn't you kill everyone else, since we all knew what you looked like? Why did you let me give you lattes and muffins and gift cards when you were only there to kill somebody? _Why did you make me think you were a good person?_ " She was shouting by the end of it, so angry she was shaking. She put her mug on the coffee table with a thump that sounded obnoxiously loud in the sudden silence of the room.

Steve opened his mouth, and Joan was sure he was going to defend Barnes' honor, tell her what a good person he really was, but Barnes said, "It's okay, Steve," and he didn't say anything.

Barnes swallowed again. He ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair, still holding the mug in his right. Joan waited, so tense it felt like she was vibrating. Jane put her arm around Joan's shoulders.

"I don't know why I shot him," Barnes said quietly, and she was surprised that he sounded American, not like he was born in Eastern Europe. "I didn't know who he was. It didn't matter. He was the…the mission. All I had to know was who to kill and where to find him. And… Your coffee shop was the most convenient building. It had good visibility, and the window glass wasn't reinforced or anything." He shrugged, though it looked more miserable than indifferent. "I wish there was a better reason than that. But there wasn't. I'm sorry."

It was a relief, in a way, to know it wasn't personal, that Barnes hadn't looked at her place of work and thought, _I want to destroy their wellbeing._ But finding out how little any of them had mattered, ultimately, made her even angrier. They had all cared so much about him, and he paid them back with horror and fear.

"Why didn't you refuse?" Joan snapped. "Why didn't you just run? You were in our shop for days—you could've run. You could've done anything." 

"I think, if you've read any of the news reports, that you know that's not true," Steve said tightly. 

"I didn't remember how to run," Barnes said. "They were…I didn't know anything else. I know that sounds crazy, but, I can't explain it better than that." He bit his lip, then put the mug on the table. "It was like… When you go to work, you look around at everyone and you know that, that they _exist_ , right? Like, they came from somewhere and they'll probably go back there again." He waited for Joan's confused nod. "Yeah. Well, when I looked at everyone, I just saw targets. Or, not targets. I didn't remember…I didn't exist, anymore. So I forgot that other people did. And Hydra, they…" He gritted his teeth, and his next breath shuddered. "I did what they told me." 

Joan had read the news reports, just like she'd told Jane. But knowing what he'd evidentially been through hadn't done anything to stop her nightmares. "What would've happened if you didn't?" 

If anything he went even paler, then just shook his head. 

"They tortured him," Steve said simply. He put his hand on Barnes'. Barnes was looking away, but he flipped his hand over so they could link fingers. It was his left; Joan wondered if he was hurting Steve's hand. "And then they electrocuted him to wipe his memories, so he only knew what they told him." 

"Why didn't you kill us, then?" Joan asked. Her voice rasped and she picked up her coffee and took a sip. It was tepid. "I mean, you left all those witnesses." 

"I don’t know," Barnes said. He scrubbed his face with his free hand then pushed back his hair. She could tell he was forcing himself to look up at her again. "I was…I had orders. To kill—to terminate the target and then, uh, eliminate the witnesses. But you… I…liked it. Being there. I didn't know that's what it was. What I was feeling. But you… You made me remember what it was to exist. I mean, like I was a person. I didn't want to…end that." 

"Oh," Joan said. She smirked humorlessly. "So, you're saying that if I'd been a bitch you would've killed me." 

He shook his head so quickly his unruly bangs shook. "No! No. I didn't…" He stopped, and he looked so stricken Joan thought he might pass out. He turned to Steve. "I didn't kill anyone else. I know I didn't." He didn't say it like a question, but the desperation in his voice made it obvious it was. 

"No, Buck," Steve said immediately. "The Asset only killed that one guy across the street. Everyone in Higher Ground was fine." 

_The Asset,_ not 'you'. Like they were two separate people. Joan didn't know what to think about that—was it for her benefit? For Barnes'? 

Apparently not, since Barnes glared at Steve. "I killed him. I was there. It was me." He looked back at her, expression uncertain again. "Were you fine?" 

Nobody who'd been in the shop that day was 'fine', and Joan wasn't sure she ever would be entirely fine again. But he was right that they were all alive. "Yeah, you didn't kill any of us," she said immediately. 

The way he sagged in relief was too wrenching to be artful. He put his hand over his eyes, his shoulders trembling. 

"You didn't hurt us, really," Joan said, because it was so obvious that he really hadn't known, and had expected the worst. "Don't you remember?" 

Barnes lifted his head, wiping his eyes the way he had back at the cafeteria. With a jolt Joan realized he'd been crying when he talked to her, and she'd been so frightened she hadn't even seen it. "I get it back, sometimes. Bits and pieces. But…I didn't kill anyone." He still sounded uncertain, and Joan was beginning to wonder just how awful that would be: to only remember the terrible things you'd done. "It wasn't just because you…weren't a bitch." 

She blinked. "It mattered?" 

He nodded, looking shocked that she might think otherwise. "You gave me food. And coffee. And you talked to me. You and the other girl…Bess. Like I was a person." 

"Oh," Joan repeated, stunned. She wasn't sure what she'd expected—that they ultimately weren't important enough to bother killing, maybe—but not this. That Barnes had purposely decided to spare them just because they'd treated him like anyone who might need a bit of help. "I guess your supervisors weren't happy with that." 

Barnes went still, his eyes huge and liquid. He gave a single shake of his head that was horribly eloquent. 

"They punished you?" 

He swallowed. "Yeah." 

"Like, what St—what Captain Rogers said?" 

Barnes shrugged. 

Joan looked at Steve, and the single nod he gave her was answer enough, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his eyes. 

"Yes it was," he said. 

Torture and electroshock. Because he behaved like a decent human being. She had to take another sip of coffee because her throat was suddenly tight. "Did you know they would do that?" 

Barnes nodded. 

Joan stared at him. "But you left us alive anyway?" 

He nodded again. 

Joan leaned back against the loveseat, still staring at him. She could still remember the way he'd smiled, said, _sorry about the mess_ like that could possibly matter when he'd just murdered someone right in front of her. She remembered how long she'd stood there afterwards, too shocked to really even register what'd just happened. It was the sound of the cop car sirens that'd finally gotten her to move, to really understand what he'd done. 

"You really didn't care," she said softly, then blinked at Barnes' intake of breath. She sat up. "No—I didn’t mean it like that. I meant, you didn't remember how to care. Not about the man you…" She stopped, lifted her chin. "The Asset didn't care about the man he killed. But _you_ cared about _us_ , right? So you left us alive. Even though your… Even though you knew you were going to suffer for it." 

Barnes looked at her like she'd stopped speaking English, then he nodded again, slow and with trepidation. He wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I scared you. I'm sorry I—I'm sorry I didn't know you were trying to help me." He started speaking faster, like he was worried she'd interrupt him again before he got it all out. "I'm sorry I went into where you worked, instead of going to the roof, or something. But I didn't know it was bad. I didn't…" He stopped, clamping his teeth together. 

Joan put her coffee down on the table and stood up, then ran her hands down the front of her jeans to dry the dampness off her palms. Her heart was pounding as badly as it had in the cafeteria, but the fear wasn't the same anymore. She crossed the small space to where Barnes was, staring up at her with his big eyes. And God, he really was just as afraid as she'd thought. For the first time she realized how much bravery this had to have taken, just for him to face her. 

She couldn't make herself touch him—she wasn't ready for that, and maybe she wouldn't be ever—but she could do this: "I forgive you," she said. "I forgive you for coming into Higher Ground and making us think you were an innocent veteran and then terrifying all of us when you killed that man." She winced, because even if that was true it wasn't very nice. And she knew that Barnes didn't deserve it. "I'm sorry, that's not fair." She took a breath. "What I want to say is, I forgive you for scaring me. I know you didn't mean it." 

Barnes' eyes went impossibly wider. "Thank you," he said, small and broken, and then he put his face in his hands and wept. Steve put his arms around him and Barnes leaned into him, holding on like he'd shatter if he let go. 

Steve looked up at her, and his eyes were a little wet too. "Thank you," he said, and Joan could only nod distantly in return, overwhelmed by the clear depth of his gratitude. All she'd done was tell Barnes she forgave him, but Captain America looked at her like she'd given Barnes back his soul. 

Jane took Joan's hand and quietly led her back to the elevator. The last thing she saw of Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers was Steve kissing Bucky's hair and murmuring, _It's all right, it's all right, it's all right._

* * *

Two days later, Joan came into the lab and found a coffee that smelled strongly of cinnamon syrup. It was still hot. Next to it was a tin of homemade chocolate chip muffins. And a note: 

_These are my favorite. I hope you like them.  
Thank you,_

_James Buchanan Barnes_

The muffins were really good. 

_END_

**Author's Note:**

> This story also fills the **Atonement** square of my [H/C Bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) [card.](http://taste-is-sweet.livejournal.com/92414.html)
> 
> (And hey, come say hello to me on [Tumblr](http://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/) or check me out [here](https://about.me/aundreasinger). ♥)


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